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by Rileyspork



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rileyspork/pseuds/Rileyspork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Tom Paris is rescued from a captor. Uhhh, I'm veering a bit towards kinda graphically hurty H/C in this, so... stand warned...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

He frowned, turning his head, squirming his body ineffectually. He was too weak to get up and walk around, but now he couldn’t even sit. Something was holding him down. Pressing against it, hard, his fingers splayed against a soft, woven texture. Smells started to reach his sluggish brain, then. Soap. Cotton. A human scent—sweat and dirt, and warmth.

 

“Hh…hullo?” his throat burned, his words caught, his tongue stuttered, and his lungs wheezed.

 

“Tom? Tom, can you hear me?”

 

“Where…am…”

 

“You’re on a transport, we’re taking you back to Voyager. As soon as we’re in range, they’ll beam us straight to sickbay.”

 

The voice, so close to his right that she had to be the heavy, living heat beside him, paused, then continued, “do you understand?”

 

He nodded, slowly.

 

“Can you tell me your name?”

 

“Thomas…Eugene…P-p-“ he started to cough; hard, painful spasms wracked his body, he was too worn out to fight the convulsing muscles, to sit up, to breathe.

 

Hands wrapped around his upper arm, and chest, lifting him. His head rested against solid flesh, under the scratchy, but heart-meltingly familiar fabric of a Starfleet uniform.

 

“It’s alright, Tom. Easy, I won’t ask you too many more questions.”

 

He nodded, still held by firm hands against a sturdy, but certainly not unwelcoming, body.

 

“Just one, for now. And I’m sorry to ask this.”

 

He nodded his acquiescence, and felt the strength in the other person, as they heaved him into a better position, “did you tell them anything that will put Voyager, the Federation, or any of its members, in danger?”

 

He opened his eyes, finally, for the first time since waking. Blurred colors swam and swirled before him, nauseating, chief among them the red of the uniform he rested against.  

 

He remembered cruel faces, twisting in perverted glee as they held him down, eyes hungrily taking in every slow, sliding drop of his blood, every bead of sweat forming across his brow as he was sick, every shudder of his muscles reacting involuntarily to his agony. Knives marking his body, their perfect, curved, human ears taking in his desperate, screaming cries, until they squirmed with pleasure as he writhed with pain.

 

His voice broke and threatened to give out, but his words came firmly despite the struggle.

 

“I don’t know.”


End file.
